


Status Update

by littlerhymes



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/pseuds/littlerhymes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark's superpower is Facebook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Status Update

**Author's Note:**

  * For [proteinscollide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proteinscollide/gifts).



> Many thanks to Joyfulseeker for beta-reading in record-breaking time - thank you so much!
> 
> For SQ - merry birthday and happy Christmas. I honestly thought this would be ready for you around your birthday. Oh well, I guess we are continuing a fine tradition of delayed fic-gift-giving. :D
> 
> [Chinese translation by AmywithanA](http://keepshipping.lofter.com/post/294f68_10573ce0) \- thank you! :D

MARK

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _is at home_

It's just after 11 at night when Mark changes his status.  
　  
He's not actually _at_ home and doesn't plan to be for a while, but sometimes Chris or Dustin check. If he's still in the office past what they think is a reasonable hour they've been known to text, or call, and on at least one occasion drive to the office themselves and drag his ass out of there.  
　  
So. He types in the update, hits enter and - quick as the press of the key, it's true.  
　  
There's no disconnect, no flashing of lights or trumpeting of angels. One moment he's at the office and the next he's sitting on the couch in the darkened living room, laptop still open in front of him.

Mark blinks. Then he closes his eyes for a deliberate five seconds and opens them again. Yep. He's definitely not in Kansas anymore.  
　  
He stands up and walks to the kitchen. Drinks a glass of water. Walks back to the couch where the laptop waits, screen glowing in the dark and the cursor blinking in the status box.  
　  
Mark takes a breath, mentally shrugs, and types _on the beach_. He hits enter.  
　  
One second later he's brushing sand out of his keyboard.  
　  
*

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _doesn't need to sleep more than 2 hours tonight_

Mark changes his status updates to default 'private' and spends the next few days experimenting.

Turn out it's not just good for skipping the commute to work. With a few taps of the keyboard suddenly Mark _doesn't feel hungry anymore_ , or _has no interviews for the rest of the month_ , or _is awake enough to code all night_. (He realises, later, that he could probably solve the coding issue too with a simple status update. But somehow that seems like cheating.)  
　  
Then he starts thinking bigger.

Not everything works. There are limits - a locus of control that eliminates the impossible - and it has to be about himself.

So he can't, for instance, have _world peace declared_ or _dinosaurs resurrected through cloning_ or _travel in time_. _Elimination of spam email_ also fails. So, yes, there are limits.

That still leaves a lot of possibilities.

*

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _is never getting sued again_

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _is favorably and accurately profiled in the New Yorker_

 **Mark Zuckerberg**  
_'s charitable fundraising exceeds projections by 30%_

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _meets someone tonight, attractive, dark hair, not crazy, has sex_

*

So, yeah, maybe in between improving his public image and advancing the cause for children's literacy, Mark's been using his newfound power like it's an advanced form of Craigslist.

So what? He's a billionaire, not a saint.  
　  
Mark figures out how to make this thing work to his advantage four days into his first tentative experiments, when he types: _will hook up with a cute guy he meets on the way home tonight._

After a moment's thought he adds _and not a psychopath or kidnapper or groupie, just someone normal._

Mark hits enter and the update appears on screen, black on white, irrevocable and true. He stares at it for a long moment, then grabs his car keys.  
　  
The guy's name is Michael and he has a nice smile, which he obligingly flashes at Mark when they both reach for the same bottle of water at the gas station. "All yours," he says and hands Mark the bottle without breaking their gaze, their fingers brushing together.  
　  
Michael has a nice apartment and a nice big bed and he doesn't ask many questions except ones like "You like that, huh?" Mark does like it. Mark likes it very much when Michael is down on his knees and blowing him. It's all very, very nice.

Everything goes well until Michael ruins it all by suggesting they should swap numbers and do it again sometime. Fuck no, Mark thought, and had to bite his lip from saying it aloud.  
　  
As soon as Michael goes to take a shower, Mark pulls out his phone and quickly updates his status.

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _doesn't see Michael again, ever._

Then he pulls his clothes on and eases the door shut behind him. It's easier this way, right? Easier for both of them.  
　  
As he heads to his car Mark has the awareness to concede that he's being fifty percent accurate, anyway.

*  
　  
Next, Mark experiments with variables.

A blond guy, a brunette girl. An archaeology major. A grocery store attendant.

A blond grocery store attendant who was an archaeology major.

 _Really bendy_ , he tries. _Into roleplaying._

"Leaving early again, Mark?" Chris comments after the third or fourth occasion he's seen actually leaving the office before seven at night. He grins. "Hot date?"

Mark looks down, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah."

It's not exactly a lie. A few times, instead of _hooks up with_ , he types _has drinks and dinner with_ instead. But the truth is, the quasi-dates inevitably leave Mark feeling slightly uneasy and pretty soon he goes back to just fucking.

After a few weeks, even experimenting loses its novelty and Mark settles into a pattern. He kind of develops a shorthand: _cute guy, dark hair, not a psycho etc_. The status box always knows what he means.

The way he ssees it, the system is working perfectly. He gets laid, they get laid, everyone goes home happy. It's about hooking up efficiently, as simple as that. Like Facebook - making sure the right people connect for the right reasons. As simple as that.

*

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _goes home with a cute guy, dark hair, not a psycho, etc, who he meets at the baggage carousel._

Mark flies back home from New York and as soon as the seatbelt sign dings off, he's typing into his phone. It's been a long round of tedious business meetings and he just wants to unwind. He figures the carousel is as good a place to meet someone as any; saves time, too.

He's just picked up his overnight bag and is looking around to see who it's going to be when someone says his name.

"Mark."

He freezes, shoulders hunched. He doesn't need to turn around to place the voice to a name, a face, years of memories. It's been months since they last saw one another, just a brief handshake at a conference, but he remembers it as clearly as yesterday.

The realisation hits him at the same time. This is it. This is his dark-haired guy.

"Eduardo," Mark says with one big exhale. He turns around and feels his face heating up, his mouth breaking into a big, stupid grin. "I -" he clears his throat, straightens up a bit. "I thought you were overseas."

"Yeah, well." Standing with one hand in his pocket and the other hefting a bag, looking like some glossy ad for menswear, Eduardo's returning smile is somewhat more tentative. "I'm doing some consulting work. Guess you might see me around town."

"It's good to see you," Mark blurts. Understatement. Inside his head he's already skipping ahead to the part where they'll undress, touch, taste. He swallows and doesn't know if it's from nerves or desire. "You look well."

"You too." Eduardo says the words like he's on auto-pilot but then his eyes rake Mark up and down, and Mark can see him realising that it's true. "Well. Good to see you, Mark." Eduardo hefts his bag over his shoulder but he doesn't step away. As though he's waiting for Mark to say something.

"Wait," Mark says, right on cue. Because this is how it goes, right? They'll go someplace, talk, end up somewhere quiet. Dot dot dot. "Do you want to get a drink?"

Eduardo's smile this time is real. "Okay. Sure."

From there it's easy.

They talk over drinks, the easy, uninvolved patter of old acquaintances catching up, or two strangers getting to know one another, and there's never once any doubt in his mind where the night will end. At moments Mark catches himself just watching Eduardo - the shape of his mouth as he laughs or the slope of his shoulders as he pushes the door open when leaving the bar - and he realises all over again that this is actually going to happen. This is going to happen, _with Eduardo_.

Even when Eduardo's finally there, opening the door of his hotel room and waving him inside, sitting on the crisply white-sheeted double bed, it still feels almost too good, too easy, to be true.

But there he is. And here Mark is.

"Come on, Mark," Eduardo says from the bed, a little flushed from drink and his hair tousled from their fumbled kisses in the back of the cab, "get over here." He unbuckles his belt, smiling at Mark the whole time.

It's five steps from the doorway to the bed. Mark doesn't remember taking a single one.

*  
*  
*

EDUARDO

He hasn't seen Mark on his own since the depositions, just the occasional industry event, so it's a shock to run into him at the airport. Eduardo covers it well, or thinks he does, but it's still a shock and maybe that accounts for what happens after.

Or maybe he should put it down to Mark's confidence, the way he'd acted from the word go as though he knew where they were going, what they were doing - how boldly he'd slid his hand on to Eduardo's knee, then up the inside of his thigh as they sat close in the back of the taxi.

They'd been friendly at the bar, more than friendly, Mark giving off signs that he'd have tagged as flirting if they'd been coming from another person. He'd been slow to read much into it, thinking it could be Mark being Mark, who'd always looked at him this way with the same laser-intense scrutiny.

But then they'd got into the taxi and there'd been no room left for doubt, no hesitation from Mark, and without much thought Eduardo had found himself going along with the script. He'd had a few beers by then, just enough to give himself the excuse to turn his head to the side, press his mouth to the side of Mark's neck and arch up into Mark's hand. Though it doesn't seem right to blame it on the drinks either.

Maybe it's just simple as it seems. Maybe he did it because he wanted to - had wanted to, for years, and never thought he would get the chance.

He does remember that it seemed like a good idea - a _great_ idea - especially the moment when he was sitting on the edge of the bed with his pants unzipped and Mark kneeling between his legs, breath hot on Eduardo's skin, and he was carding his fingers through Mark's hair and whispering some stupid nothing like _I never thought..._

Then Mark was on him, one hand working at the base of his cock, his mouth sucking on the tip. Eduardo groaned and let his head drop back, forced himself to untangle his hands from Mark's hair and wrapped them in the sheets instead. "Mark," he said, and then Mark was swallowing him down and he couldn't help himself then, hips bucking, fucking hard into Mark's mouth, "sorry, sorry."

But Mark didn't back off, just gripped him by the hips and took him down again, took everything he had, working at him until Eduardo was on the brink. "I'm gonna," he managed to say, and Mark pulled off in time.

"Fuck," Eduardo said when he could catch his breath, laughing weakly, wiping at himself with his ruined shirt. "I'm a wreck." He pushed himself up and smiled at Mark. "Your turn." He reached for Mark's pants, intending to reciprocate. Thinking he'd start with a handjob, for starters, and then for round two -

Abruptly Mark pushed himself away. "Don't," he said, scrambling out of Eduardo's reach.

"What?" Eduardo pulled his hands back as though they'd been burnt. He went hot then cold all over.

"I'm sorry. I thought. But I can't do this," Mark said, sounding strangled. He scrambled to his feet, the erection tenting his pants still obvious, and made for the door, never once meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, and then the door slammed shut behind him.

*

So he isn't exactly in the best of moods when Mark shows up at his room the following morning.

"Listen," Mark says flatly, his hands shoved in his pockets. "I just wanted to say-"

Eduardo slams the door in his face.

*

Mark, being Mark, is nothing if not persistent. Eduardo knows it's only a matter of time before he he's confronted again.

It happens two days later, at the airport VIP lounge where he's waiting for the boarding call for his flight back to Los Angeles, where he'll transfer to another bound for Singapore.

"I just need you to hear me out," Mark says without preamble, dropping into the seat next to him.

There's enough people around that Eduardo doesn't try to make a scene - he's had enough scenes with Mark to last a lifetime. Instead he sighs under his breath, folds his newspaper into neat halves then quarters, and then and only then turns to Mark and says, "Yes?"

He admits, in the clear light of day, that Mark really is looking very good these days - so it wasn't just the beer or the dark or his own romantic delusions, carried over from years ago. Of course, Eduardo thinks, that doesn't make what happened any easier to take. Maybe it actually hurts a little more.

"I want to apologise for what happened the other night," Mark says, and for the first time in a long time he looks a little nervous. He rubs his hands on his trousers; he always did have clammy hands.

Let him sweat, Eduardo thinks mercilessly. "Go on," he says.

"The thing is," Mark says, swallowing, "the thing is, I wanted you."

Eduardo lowers his voice and leans a little closer. "Given you had my cock in your mouth, I'm inclined to agree. But then how do you explain what happened _after_ , Mark?"

Mark turns his head. He's very close to Eduardo right now, he realises, very very close. "I wanted you, but not just for a night," Mark says very quickly. "Not just because you were d-drunk or whatever, but because you wanted it too. I wanted this to be the start of something. Like - a relationship."

Eduardo literally cannot think of a single thing to say.

"And I thought you wouldn't want that," Mark continues, blinking rapidly. "I thought you didn't want me. Not the way I wanted you, anyway. So I left. I got scared."

"You. You thought _I didn't_ \- so obviously you just decided to-" He chokes. He clenches his fist and suppresses the urge to punch something. He does this to me every time, he thinks, every fucking time. "I swear to god, you are the most stupid, infuriati-"

"I said I'm sorry," Mark says, more loudly. He flushes. "Look, I just want us to do this over again. I want to start fresh. I think we could get along together. I mean, it doesn't have to be _that_ ," though the flick of his eyes down to Eduardo's lips says otherwise. "I just want you to be in my life again. You know. Like starting over."

"Starting over?" Eduardo repeats.

"Yeah," Mark says. He quickly adds, with peculiar emphasis, "and it's entirely your decision."

"Okay." Eduardo thinks for all of two seconds. "My decision is no."

"No?" Mark repeats. He looks shocked. Of course he does. "Like, not ever? So that's it then? Okay, then, right, I guess I-"

"Mark," Eduardo says carefully. "Shut up for a moment and listen to yourself. You seriously want us, " he gestures between their chests, "to start over?" He laughs. "Mark, all we _have_ is history. From the moment we met, through to two nights ago - we couldn't wish all that away if we tried."

"Yeah. I know," Mark says hoarsely.

"We can't just pretend nothing happened, Mark," Eduardo says. "You screwed me over. I sued you for billions. You sucked me off and then walked away. I can forgive, Mark, but I'm not going to forget."

"Yeah. I know." Mark slumps. "So I guess it's still a 'no', right?"

"Mark..." Eduardo sighs. "Look. I'm about to travel halfway around the world and I'm not ready to have this conversation." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his business card, the one with his direct line on the back. "Just call me, okay? We'll talk and take it from there. Maybe we can try this again. Or maybe we won't. But I'm ready to give it a chance, if you are."

Mark looks at the card and nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm back in the States in a few weeks. If we're still okay, maybe we can meet up." He stands, gathering his things. "We might even finish what we started last time. I still owe you one, right?" He smiles, just to make his meaning perfectly clear, before walking away.

On the plane, Eduardo logs into Facebook on his smartphone one last time before the seatbelt lights go on. He finally clicks 'Accept' on the friend request from Mark that's been hanging in his inbox since forever and then quickly skims his profile. There's nothing exceptional on there, though the latest update from Mark, dated only moments ago, does seem a bit weird.

 **Mark Zuckerberg** _has no superpowers whatsoever and never did._

It burns bright on the screen for a moment and then fades away, as though it never existed at all. Eduardo blinks for a moment, confused. Then he shrugs it off, turns off his smartphone, and settles in for the long journey ahead.


End file.
